MY TRUE COLOURS suggested a poem linked to the colour BLACK.
Trees, when they shed their leaves
Create their own memorials.
No chiselled platitudes:
'Died, September 1950:
Resurrected April 1951'
No heavy angelic carving,
No stiff unbending stone trees,
Lowering over the dear departed.
No representations of leaves
But a tracery of denuded branches,
Stark against the winter sky;
Arms raised gracefully,
Pleading for the sun.
So it is, sometimes,
With gutted buildings.
They accidentally invent
Than any stone-smith could create.
The destruction of the Twin Towers
That was both elegant and archaic.
So it is with Brighton Pier.
Did I really walk its boards
When both of us were young?
Was there really colour, noise,
Funny hats, icecream,
Brighton Pier has attained
A grace in death
That it never revealed in life.
The flames purified it
And turned it into
A work of art.
Yesterday's mystery phrase was 'Can you kick a ball against a wall, head it and burst it?'